


Hallelujah to the Spirit of Pawnee

by ImpossibleCherryBlossom



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Government Agencies, Mostly Fluff, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpossibleCherryBlossom/pseuds/ImpossibleCherryBlossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About two minutes after Ann said she’d maybe never date anyone ever again, she begins to hope it is a lie. </p>
<p>Post "The Debate" (Season four). Once more, the subtext was calling to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah to the Spirit of Pawnee

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!   
> As in the summary, this is directly inspired, and references (thus, vaguely spoiling) "The Debate" episode. I adore this pairing.   
> Anyway, as with all my Parks and Rec fic, my hat is tipped to aphrodite_mine, whose work gave this pairing a special place in my head.

About two minutes after Ann said she’d maybe never date anyone ever again, she begins to hope it is a lie.   
But she isn’t going to date Tom, in fact, she can’t really think of a single legitimate reason to date him in the first place, or to stay with him, or get back together with him those countless times. It was horrible--she spent half her time with him wanting to smack him, and the other half simply annoyed--but it was a good distraction. A good, all-consuming distraction, which perhaps is why she agreed to this entire arrangement in the first place.   
Chris is no good either, in terms of dating. He is intense, but not in a good way. He is intense to the degree that he simply never relaxes, never skips a single step in his meticulous routine, and though he is happy and enjoyable as a person, Ann just doesn’t want to deal with that sort of intensity all the time.  
About two minutes after Ann said she’d maybe never date anyone ever again, she goes to find Leslie and congratulate her on the debate. She sees her kissing Ben from across the room, and her stomach plummets, which doesn’t make any sense. Leslie’s happy, that’s a good thing. Still, she can’t but help (and she’s tried) to feel the slightest glow of smug satisfaction when Leslie abandons Ben to greet her without a moment’s hesitation.  
Then, as if sent by God or at least the spirit of Pawnee to save Ann from emotional processing, Bobby Newport walks by and is astonishingly cryptic. This leads Ann to wonder if he’s truly idiotic and oblivious or perhaps knows something she doesn’t, which is disconcerting on principle. Yet, however disconcerting, it’s far more comfortable than what Ann is strictly avoiding considering, and she’s thankful she gets to put everything else off while the campaign team processes the debate, and Bobby in general.   
She manages to avoid thinking until the next morning, when she’s gotten some sleep and the buzz of the debate has all but worn away. And that’s when she admits it to herself: She is in love with Leslie Knope.   
It makes her want to throw up--and not because of the whole same-sex thing, not at all. That’s new, strictly speaking, but not unforeseen or remotely unwelcome. No, it makes her want to throw up because Leslie is with Ben, and Leslie is happier with Ben than Ann’s ever seen her. It makes her want to throw up because Leslie is her best friend, and she needs a best friend, but now she’ll either have to lie to her best friend or tell Leslie the truth, and she’s not sure which will hurt their friendship more. She wants to throw up because she’s in love, goddamnit, with a woman she can’t have, and she can’t even call her closest friend for getting-over-it ideas.   
She doesn’t throw up, in the end, but she does call in sick.   
She does curl up on the couch and cry and watch shitty television all day long, the words to “Hallelujah” stuck in her head on endless repeat: I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah. Leslie, she thinks, this is your cold, broken, hallelujah. 

Leslie is worried. She’s not worried about the debate, even though through some grave technological mishap there is no new polling data. She’s not worried about the party last night, because she knows that while it did not go anywhere near planned, everyone surely loved Andy by the end of it. She’s not worried about the campaign at all, which is a change.   
She’s worried about Ann.   
Dear, sweet, Ann who never calls in sick unless she’s either about to die or so contagious everyone else would die. Dear, sweet, Ann who was perfectly healthy--if a little distant--last night. Dear, sweet, Ann who didn’t sound sick on the phone, but heartbroken.   
Now, why would Ann be heartbroken?   
It can’t be Tom--Ann didn’t love, or even really like, Tom in the first place. Leslie knows she hasn’t simply misjudged this, because Ann has told her this herself. Ann never lies to her.   
Except now. Why is Ann lying to her now?  
Who hurt her Ann?   
Leslie needs answers, and that means only one thing: ditching the campaign in the capable hands of Ben and going to Ann’s to find them.   
She arrives at Ann’s doorstep about midday, and frantically knocks on the door. Within a few moments Ann appears on her doorstep, still in her pajamas, eyes and nostrils red from what must be excessive amounts of crying.   
“Ann,” she says, with building degrees of panic, “I realized something was off this morning and it’s taken me awhile, but I’ve figured it out. I understand it, Ann, and I rushed over here so I could get answers. You’re lying to me. Why are you lying to me? You never lie to me. Did I do something wrong? Am I not your best friend anymore? What’s going on, Ann?”  
“Calm down, Leslie.”  
“How can I possibly calm down? How--”  
“Leslie,” Ann cuts her off, “Come inside, sit down, we’ll eat ice cream and I’ll try to explain, okay?”  
“Okay.  
Five minutes later they’re nestled comfortably on Ann’s couch, eating chocolate ice cream--with lots of whipped cream for Leslie, course. Leslie is almost placated by the whipped cream--a reminder of just how exceedingly well Ann knows her--but not quite. She’s still confused, and she doesn’t like confusion, just sort of in general. She’s confused because Ann is acting weird, and she’s confused because she has an inexplicably strong urge to wrap Ann in her arms, to stroke her hair, protect her, make everything all right. To her deep and abiding bewilderment, she wants to kiss it better.   
She wants to kiss sweet, beautiful, Ann.   
Shit.   
“Ann.” She eventually chokes out, “What’s wrong?”   
Ann sniffles.   
“You can trust me, you know that.”  
More sniffles. “Leslie. God, Leslie...I, I...oh shit. I can’t. I can’t do this.” She is fully crying now, so Leslie sees no choice but to wrap her up in her arms. She lightly rubs her back, murmurs comforting endearments. Once Ann has stopped crying, Leslie asks the obvious question.  
“Can’t do what, Ann?” When that receives no response, she continues. “Is it the election? Cause it’s totally okay if you don’t want to be a part of that. It’s super stressful and it’s totally okay if you can’t do it, I’ll understand.” Another pause.   
“It’s not the election, Leslie.”   
“Okay, is it Tom? I thought you didn’t like him. Did someone hurt you, cause if they did I would completely kick their ass. And if that failed, I’d get Ron to do it. I--”  
“No one hurt me, Leslie. I’m in love.” For some inexplicable reason, Leslie’s heart plummets. She doesn’t quite understand why--love is good, right? Everyone should get to be in love. Before she has a chance to say anything, Ann continues. “I’m in love with this beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, honest, inventive woman.”   
“Are you coming out to me, Ann.” The grin on Leslie’s face could probably be seen on the moon.   
“I...guess so, why?”   
“This is great Ann! This is fantastic! An absolute milestone in your life and in our friendship! Does anyone else know? Did you tell me first? Are you gay, or bi, or is this just a one-person thing? Do you want to get married, you can, you know, just like those adorable penguins, only you’ll be a million times more adorable--”   
“Leslie, there is no way I could possibly more adorable than those penguins.”  
“Of course you could be. You’re my sweet, beautiful, Ann. Oh, I know, you could do that thing where you, you know--”  
“Leslie, you’re the first one I’ve told. And yeah, I’m probably bi, but I don’t really know. I’ve been focusing too much on this...woman. I’ve got no idea if I want to get married.”  
“Wait! Ann!” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You haven’t told me who this awesome chick is yet.” Just as suddenly, Ann’s face falls again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me yet, if you don’t want to.”  
“No,” Ann whispers, “I do have to tell you.”   
“Okay.”   
Ann stands up, off the sofa, starts putting their now-consumed ice cream dishes away. Instead of returning to the couch, she sits on the floor a few feet off.   
Ann finally speaks. “You know her very well, better than anyone I think. She’s running for city council this year.”  
“Oh god, Ann, please not the porn star.”  
“God no. Of course not!” The look on Ann’s face is one of utter horror.   
“Wait, Ann.” Realization dawns on Leslie like sunrise in the Nordic Circle--abruptly, inevitably and without warning. “There are only two female candidates for city council.”  
“Yes.” Ann returns her whisper, “And I am in love with Leslie Knope.”  
“God, Ann.”  
“Yeah.”   
“I...” Leslie’s choking back tears now, because she’s so confused. She loves Ben, right? But now she wants to give Ann everything Ann could possibly want, she wants to kiss her better, and is undeniably thrilled at Ann’s announcement. “I’m dating...I mean, I love you, Ann, and sometimes I feel...I want...I...shit.”  
“I’m sorry, Les. I’m so, so very sorry.” Ann’s crying again as well.   
“It’s not your fault,” Leslie slides off the couch to brush Ann’s hair out of her face, “None of this is your fault.” 

They don’t talk about it again until after the election. If Ann is being honest, she didn’t want to talk about it, and so they don’t as a direct result. They continue everything as usual, campaigning and eating at JJs with Ben, only now their actions are strained, and Ann can’t quite look Ben in the face. Ann starts ignoring Leslie’s texts, finding excuses not to spend evenings in with her, like they used to. 

Ben quickly realizes that Leslie isn’t telling him something. She starts pulling away from him in public, and then at home as well. She curls up away from him in their bed, and he thinks he hears her crying sometimes, but she always tells him she’s fine.   
He doesn’t want to pressure her, doesn’t want to be unnecessarily overbearing, but Leslie wears her emotions for all to see, and Ben knows she isn’t remotely fine.   
Finally, once they have (blessedly) won the election, and life settles down--no longer is the entire Parks Department practically living in their house all day--he asks her.   
“What’s up, Leslie.”   
“Hmm?” She stares blankly at him.   
“Come on, Les, don’t give me that. Something’s up, and we both know it.”   
“Nothing’s up.” she muttered, staring back at her plate of waffles, moving the whipped cream around with a fork.   
“You’re not eating your whipped cream. You barely even look at me anymore. Have I done something wrong? Please tell me, so I can fix it. So I can get us back.”   
Silence.   
“It’s not your fault.”  
“Okay, that’s good to know.”  
“We need to break up.”  
“What are you saying right now, Leslie.” He feels as though he is sinking. He can’t say he’s surprised, entirely, but he...he doesn’t want this. He needs to be sure. She needs to be sure.   
“It’s not your fault, but...I’m not in love with you, I don’t think. I love you, I always will, you’re phenomenal as a human being, but I don’t want to be with you.”   
“Is there any way I can change your mind?”   
“No.” her voice is small, so unlike her usual self-assurance.   
“Are you sure?”   
“Ben, I’m sorry, but there is nothing you can do to convince me to stay with you.” The assurance is back, and this time she looks him right in the eyes. And that’s when he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s lost her. 

When Leslie breaks up with Ben, she feels disgustingly grown up. Telling people bad news often does this to her, especially when there’s no redeeming factor for the disappointed party. Not even Chris could find a positive way to say “I’m ditching you because I’ve fallen in love with my best friend. Sorry.” She knows what she did was the right thing to do, would let her be happy, would let Ann be happy, would get Ben out of a relationship that was quickly careening towards dysfunctional. But she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to hurt him, because, though she’s not in love with him, she still loves him. She trusts him, he is her best friend--outside of Ann, that is.   
Dear, sweet, beautiful Ann, who for the last month or so has barely spoken to her, but remains a central figure in her dreams. Dear, sweet, beautiful Ann, whose absence she feels acutely by lunchtime despite meeting her for breakfast at JJs.   
She’s not confused anymore, as she drives away from Ben’s house.   
But she’s terrified nonetheless.   
She goes the first place she can think of, which is, of course, Ann’s.   
Ann opens the door in her pajamas, bowl of ice cream in one hand. God, she’s so gorgeous.   
“Leslie!” Ann sounds almost shocked, as though she’d forgotten that Leslie just shows up on her doorstep sometimes. Or used to, anyway. She notices Leslie’s unusually somber expression, and becomes instantly serious. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”  
“I broke up with Ben.” Clearly, this is not what Ann was expecting, and multiple emotions flicker across her face: relief, confusion, hope, guilt.   
“Come in, Les.” Ann opens the door all the way, and they go to the kitchen together. Ann makes hot chocolate to go with the ice cream and whipped cream that are stables in her house. Because of Leslie. After sitting in silence for awhile, Leslie speaks.   
“Why have you been avoiding me?”  
“Oh, Les,” Ann sighs, “It...I hurt to be around you, because I want you so much, but I want you to be happy, and those two were, and perhaps still are, in conflict, so I just felt guilty. All the time.”  
“They were in conflict because I was with Ben?”  
“Yes. Because he was good for you, he made you happy.”  
“You make me happy. You’re good for me.”  
“Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe not like that, Les, as much as I wish it were otherwise.”  
“I broke up with him.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I think you are good for me like that, if you’ll have me.”  
Ann pushes Leslie’s hair away from her face, stands next to where she sits at the kitchen counter.  
“Are you sure?” Her voice is almost hoarse. In response, Leslie sets down her cocoa, brings one hand to Ann’s hip, pulling her close.   
“Hell yes.”  
Their first kiss is soft and sweet, they both taste faintly of whipped cream and chocolate (Two of Leslie’s favorite tastes--the other taste is simply Ann, and Leslie thinks it’s her new absolute favorite). Gentle sighs become soft moans, and Leslie stands, allows herself to be pushed back up against the counter.   
After what may have been eternity, or perhaps just a few seconds, Ann steps back slightly, rests her hands on Leslie’s shoulders.   
“I love you,” she whispers.   
“I love you too.”   
The evening progresses at a remarkable pace after that, clothes strewn down the hall, cocoa abandoned until the next morning, when they returned to the kitchen in freshly washed fuzzy pajamas. 

Leslie was smiling, truly, honestly smiling for the first time since she won the election, and Ann realizes she will do anything to keep Leslie smiling at her like that. 

Ann’s finally happy, Leslie can tell, and that’s the most important thing in the world to Leslie. Even before the government. 

A year later they’re eating breakfast in JJs again--Leslie, Ann, and Ben--except that this time Leslie holds Ann’s hand under the table, and Ben is teasing them about being too cute in public. Same scene, but such different lives, and miraculously, everyone is okay. More than okay, actually, they’re all doing great. Ben promises to bring his new girlfriend along next time, provided Leslie doesn’t pester her too much. Ann promises to keep Leslie in check, and Leslie promises to make sure her family (because that’s what they really are, she’s decided) keeps smiling.


End file.
